Twisted Memoirs
by LoveBugOC
Summary: SEQUEL to Twisted Love Story. "This is the man she knows; the man she loves." Follows Hermione and Draco through the trial and through their own memories. One shot; two parts. Rated for mature subject matter/sensitive ideas.
1. Chapter 1

Hey all!

Soooo as you've probably guessed by now, both by the name and most definitely the summary, this is the second part to _Twisted Love Story._

To those who haven't yet read the first part: I advise that you read it first, otherwise you probably won't understand this and, also, it's a great read if I do say so myself!

To those what have: thank you so, so much for your support and your patience in waiting for me to get my thoughts together.

To everyone: It's supposed to be a one shot, but the story as a whole is 8,599 words. SO I've split it into two parts but posted both parts at the same time… And as promised, I've written a third (and final) part, which I will be editing/revising/rewriting and posting, hopefully, within the next few days.

Side note: I hope this does the first part justice!

ENJOY

* * *

**Twisted Memoirs  
**  
X

_April 13, 2004  
8:47 a.m._

She looks at herself in the mirror. Looking back at her is a reflection she doesn't recognize. Curly, frizzy hair that feels like straw and looks like she hasn't washed it in weeks. Sad, haunted brown eyes cradled in dark circles because she hasn't slept in what feels like years. Pale, sickly looking skin that is dry and flaky. Hollowed out cheeks, protruding collar bones, pointy shoulders, countable ribs, boney hips.

She is a shadow of her former self. A reflection of a woman scorned, lost, clinging to life only because she has to.

Yesterday was the first day she'd gotten herself out of bed in about a month. She doesn't sleep; she lies there facing _his_ side of the empty bed, stroking _his_ crumpled bed sheets, crying into _his_ pillow that smells of _him_. She lies in the dark, the covers pulled up to her chin - sometimes up over her head, to drown out the world around her. It is a deafening silence where the only noise is the sound of her own thoughts - and more often than not, the sound of her own heart-wrenching sobs. The only reason she decided to get out of bed yesterday was because Harry spent hours begging her to - and, if she's being honest with herself, she'd wanted to see _him_. She wanted to hear the truth from his own lips but she also wanted to _see_him, to prove to herself that not everything was a lie, to see if the man she had loved was still there somewhere - anywhere, inside him. And he was. The man she had fallen in love with was there, he was just buried deep within the monster that he was - is. The thought is horrifying.

Today is the day, though. And although she doesn't have to go because there's no obligation and because, according to Harry, she's done everything she can, she pulls herself out of bed. She has to go. She needs closure. She needs... Well, truthfully, she doesn't know what she needs. But she cannot be here, when _he_ is _there_.

She gives herself one last look in the mirror before flicking her wrist, watching the glass shatter as the shards fall onto the counter and into the sink, spilling onto the floor. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't blink. She is numb.

She places her wand on the counter among the shards of broken glass before climbing into the shower.

X

_June 1, 1999_

She steps out of the shower after wrapping a towel around her damp, naked body and towel-drying her hair. She wipes the edges of the white tub before pulling the curtain closed around it. And as she turns to leave the bathroom, a smile spreads over her lips as her gaze lands on the foggy mirror, a faded heart drawn onto the glass. Her not-so-cold and surprisingly-soft boyfriend's doing. She rolls her eyes, despite the smile on her face, as she opens the door.

_It's almost as though she walks into a wall, freezing in the doorway at the sight before her. Confusion settles onto her face, resting in her eyebrows as she stares across the hallway at the wall opposite her. Hanging on the wall at eye level is a picture frame that wasn't there when she went into the bathroom. Instead of a picture, however, there's a large black arrow pointing down the hallway. Underneath it, written in Draco's elegant handwriting, is a question: _Do you trust me?_  
_

_She blinks in confusion as looks down the hallway. A few feet away is another picture frame which wasn't there before. She holds the towel around her middle as she walks towards it. Inside the frame is another arrow and underneath the arrow is another question: _Would you trust me if I asked you follow me?

_Curious, she follows three more arrows with three more questions. They lead her to the small, old fashioned kitchen. The curtains at the window above the sink are drawn and the door to the small patio is closed. Hanging on the doorknob by a piece of red ribbon is another picture frame. This time there's an "X" - _X marks the spot_ - and underneath it reads: _Are you still afraid of the unknown?_  
_

_"Draco?" she calls out, her voice loud with confusion. Upon receiving no answer, still holding her towel to her chest, she turns the doorknob carefully and pulls open the door.  
_

_What she sees next steals her breath and brings tears to her eyes. There he stands, leaning against the iron rail encasing the balcony, with his arms crossed over his chest, a smug look on his face, the morning sunrise shining in his platinum blond hair. Next to him is the old circular table, made of wood, covered in an off-white table cloth. On top is a variety of breakfast foods: a basket of bagels and bread, fruit, coffee and tea, milk and cream and sugar, butter and cream cheese.  
_

_"What is this?" she asks softly once she's found her voice.  
_

_"Have a seat," he whispers, motioning for her sit in the chair closest to her.  
_

_Her brows knit together in confusion, hesitating in the doorway. "What's this about?" she asks again, curiously and shakily.  
_

_He smiles then, rolling his eyes playfully as he guides her to her seat.  
_

_For the second time this morning – and it isn't even 8 a.m. – her breath is stolen. A lone, silver key is lying in the middle of her white, square plate. She looks up at him standing next her, then back down at the key for a moment before sliding her gaze across the table as he sits down.  
_

_"I got the house," he says casually, leaning back in his chair.  
_

_She blinks, shocked as she leans forward. "W-what?"  
_

_"The house – the one we saw last month in the city. I bought it," he tells her, smiling as he cocks his head to the side.  
_

_Her eyes widen in disbelief as she looks down at the key. Her hand shakes as she reaches forward, running her fingers over the cool metal. "You...how'd you..." she trails off, unable to find the words to describe the thoughts shifting through her mind. They'd talked briefly about having a house, joked about officially moving in together. But she didn't think they were being serious – more importantly, she didn't think _he_ was being serious.  
_

_He grins, leaning forward to take her hand in his. "It's _ours_, Granger."  
_

_She smiles through tears of happiness. "I dunno what to say," she chokes.  
_

_"Say you'll move in with me," he murmurs, his grey eyes shining with love and adoration. "Officially, with more than just a tooth brush and some clothes."  
_

_Forgetting that she's still only wearing a towel, Hermione launches herself across the table and onto Draco's lap, pressing her lips firmly against his with a deep breath of, "_yes._"  
_  
X

Everybody tells her not to go. They tell her it isn't worth her pain – but she's already in pain, so what's a little bit more? They tell her that he wouldn't blame her if she didn't go, and even if he did who cares?; she _cares_. And she doesn't understand.

She doesn't understand why she wants to go, why she feels like she has to. She doesn't understand why it means so much. She doesn't understand why she's more afraid of _not_ going than she is of walking into the courtroom. She can't comprehend why she's so afraid to disappoint him. ["_I don't expect you to come tomorrow...but it would mean the world if you would_," he tells her softly. The desperation and the hope that is strong in his voice are so solid that she can practically touch them.]

She's standing in the middle of her bedroom [their bedroom], trying to understand and she can't. She looks at herself in the mirror and this time she looks more presentable. Her hair, clean and fresh from her long, 45 minute shower is in soft, elegant curls, falling over her shoulder to the tops of her breasts. The bags under eyes are gone, the red puffiness in her eyes is gone – although it won't last long, she's sure, and neither will her mascara. She'd added colour to her face in an attempt to make herself look healthy and vibrant, but the unhealthily skinny shape of her body proves that she isn't either.

She's wearing a pair of black dress pants, a white blouse and a dark grey blazer over top. Her cloak is also black, along with her purse. 'Is it a coincidence, wearing black today?' she wonders morbidly.  
Her stomach growls loudly, rumbling and shaking violently. She is hungry, but her appetite is next-to-none. And even when she does eat, she throws it all up 20 minutes later, unable to keep anything but water in her stomach. It's unhealthy, in more ways than one now.

A loud _POP_echoes around the otherwise empty, quiet room and in the reflection of the mirror she watches the figure of the raven-haired man materialize behind her. He looks at her through the mirror, his hands pushed into the pockets of his cloak. He looks somber and disappointed. This trial will be the biggest trial the Wizarding World has ever seen and if...her husband...is found guilty – and realistically there's no way he wouldn't be - then Harry, alongside Ron, will go down in history.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he tells her softly, walking closer to her. "You don't owe him anything, you can stay here. I'll-"

"I have to go," she whispers, turning her head to face him. "I have to go for _me_." It's only partly a lie, right?

"Are you sure you can handle it?"

"I handled yesterday, didn't I?" she asks rhetorically, smiling sadly.

He stares at her sternly, as he knows full well the second she got within the safe confines of her house - it's no longer a home - she lost any shred of self-control and composure she had left. She spent the majority of the rest of the day sobbing into his chest as he held her while they cuddled on the bed and when she wasn't sobbing she was throwing up – and because there isn't much to vomit, she was dry-heaving. After six hours of crying and vomiting she'd finally fallen asleep, in which time he'd kissed her on the forehead and gone home.

To this day she isn't sure what's worse: living a nightmare while she's awake, or re-living the same nightmare – and then some – in her dreams.

"Have you eaten?" he asks her.

She nods, glancing down at the floor.

He looks skeptical, reluctantly accepting her response before taking a deep breath. "Ready?"

Instead of replying verbally, in which case she doesn't have a response, she takes his hand. His hand, larger and rougher than hers, gives hers a reassuring squeeze before the loud _POP_and tugging sensation of apparition consumes them.

The second her feet touch the ground, she's blinded by a thousand tiny flashes of bright lights.

X

_May 16, 2000_

The minute the double doors to the Ministry building open, the newlyweds are blinded - not only by the afternoon sun - but by thousands of tiny white flashes. They pause on the landing before the large staircase, their hands clasped together tightly.

_Her white dress, sprinkled with tiny diamonds – the groom wouldn't settle for anything less than magnificent, shines in the light bouncing off of it. Her tanned skin glows, absorbing the light, and her wide, pearly white smile twinkles along with her big brown eyes, demanding the attention she deserves.  
_

_Next to her, the groom stands perfectly still, back straight, chin raised proudly. His black robes somehow look darker and more elegant, contrasting against the white of his dress shirt. His white blond hair shines in the light, and his pale skin practically glimmers. His own smile and grey eyes are twinkling with unfathomable happiness.  
_

_They're the perfect picture of a newlywed couple.  
_

_They're the greatest, most surprising couple in the history of the Wizarding World.  
_

_The paparazzi, the guests, their friends and family begin chanting for a kiss.  
_

_He smirks, dipping his head down next to her face, his lips grazing her ear. "Kiss me, wife," he whispers.  
_

_She smiles, turning her body to face him and tilting her head back for access. He lingers for a moment, his right arm slipping around her waist as he strokes the side of her face with his left hand. He grazes his nose against hers, eliciting a giggle from her throat before he presses his lips to hers.  
_

_The sounds of cheering and hollering and cameras clicking fills the air.  
_

_Then they're running through the crowd, laughing as their guests begin to pelt them with rice and flowers. She giggles loudly and wholeheartedly as somebody – a chauffeur – opens the back door of a large, black horse-drawn carriage. She clambers inside first, pulling her new husband in after.  
_

_Both of them are panting as the door closes, leaning back against the structure of the carriage – a soft tug means they are moving. She looks sideways at him, smiling sweetly and sort of shyly as a light blush spreads across her cheeks. He grins back, cocking his head to the side in a 'come-hither' sort of way.  
_

_She does as she's told, moving across the space between them before climbing rather awkwardly onto his lap, straddling him as he adjusts his hips for both of their comforts. His arms slip around her waist while hers curl around his neck. She rests her forehead against his, breathing shakily and looking deeply into his eyes.  
_

_"Hi," he whispers, gazing up at her as he rests the back of his head against the back of the bench.  
_

_"Hi," she whispers back.  
_

_Seconds pass. Minutes pass. Moments pass as they stare lovingly at one another.  
_

_He moves both hands, pushing his right into her hair behind her head and stroking her cheek with his fingertips with his other. "I love you Hermione Malfoy."  
_

_She hums in adoration at the sound of his last name attached to hers. "I love you too Mr. Malfoy."  
_

_And then for the third time since saying "I do" and for the first time in privacy, the newlyweds kiss.  
_  
X

Draco is led into the courtroom by two guards wielding body armor and wands; the guards and the judge are the only people allowed their wands inside. For the first time in weeks he's able to wear outside clothing: dragonhide dress shoes and black robes with a white dress shirt – a major change from Azkaban's black and white striped jumpsuit and dirty old sneakers, if he were lucky enough he'd be able to snag a pair of dirt-stained, holey socks. The robes are significantly softer and more comfortable. They've allowed him to clean up as well; he shaved his five o'clock shadow this morning, washed his hair and his skin, brushed and polished his teeth. He looks rather presentable now.

However this is the last thing on his mind.

As he enters the courtroom he's only vaguely aware of the audience watching him, glaring and sneering and scowling and crying. They are friends and families of his victims – whom he doesn't recognize. They are his own "friends" and "coworkers" and peers he went to school with. They are witches and wizards who cannot wait for his demise.

He ignores them, keeping his gaze trained ahead of him with his held high. And when he sits down in the prisoner's box on the left hand side of the judge's podium, facing the crowd in front of him, he is unfazed by their reactions and behaviours towards him. Quite frankly, he really doesn't care what they think. As he folds his hands on his lap, his wrists bound together both by metal cuffs and by magic, his gaze falls upon the prosecutor's table. A wizard dressed in court robes with grey hair and sagging skin is silently behind his desk, waiting. He shifts his gaze to the defense lawyer's side of the room – had he bothered to hire a lawyer, a man, probably resembling the prosecutor, would be sitting there.

She isn't here, he notices.

She isn't here _yet_, he tells himself.

It's wishful thinking on his part, hoping she'll show up. But then, the look on her face when he had asked her to come yesterday had led him to believe that she would. And while a part of him doesn't want her to come – doesn't want her to have go through the details of this trial – a bigger part him, the selfish part of him, wants her to be there.

Needs her to be there.

He needs to see her face.

He needs something to hold on to while he is being ripped to shreds by the evidence that is stacked against him.

He needs to feel some form of happiness, while he awaits his fate. [And hers, he thinks gravely.]

Just then the door opens and his stomach jumps into his throat and his heart drops into his stomach – just at the mere _possibility_that it will be her. He sits up a little straighter, looks a little bit more attentive and waits with baited breath.

It is Potter, wearing dark robes with his wacky black hair combed to one side – _Like you had to get all fancy for me_, Draco thinks. Following the Head Auror and the lead auror on his case is his wife, Mrs. Ginny Potter. She, too, is wearing dark robes which contrasts against her fiery red hair and still manages to show off her fat baby bump – _Of course she's pregnant again, she's still a Weasley_, he thinks amusedly. Behind both Potters is the most magnificent being that's ever lived. She's also wearing dark robes, her thick, curly hair falling across her shoulders, her skin pale in comparison to the blackness of the fabric surrounding her. She looks sad, lost, confused. If it weren't for the fact that her hand is clasped tightly in the Weaslette's hand, he's sure she would've made a run for it.

He settles back into his chair, his gaze following her. He is calm now. At piece. And despite the fact that she has stolen his breath with her presence, he can finally breathe now. _  
_  
X

She can't breathe. She can't think. She can hardly walk, wouldn't be able to if Ginny weren't holding her hand and acting as her legs. She doesn't want to be here – but being anywhere else, at this point, is unfathomable.

She can feel his gaze on her the whole way to her seat, between Ginny and Harry. Can feel it smoldering and firm; unwavering. He's willing her to look at him. It set fire to her skin and, at the same time, an eerie chill down her spine. A part of her wants to look back, wants to see him. But she refuses.

She's too afraid to.

His gaze, however, isn't the only one on her; everyone in the room is staring at her. Watching her. [Hoping for a reaction. Waiting for her to fall apart. Silently berating her. Wondering how on earth she had never known. Feeling bad for her. Trying to understand.] Aside from her husband being the center of attention today, she's probably the most popular person in the room right now.

Especially with the reporters.

She knows what they've been saying about her. Despite today being the first day anyone, aside from her closest friends and family and from the guards at Azkaban yesterday, has seen her, she's seen the papers. [_Hermione Granger: muggleborn wife of muggleborn killer_. _War heroine: victim or accomplice?_ _Mrs. Malfoy brayed by muggle-hating husband_.] It seems that for every truthful article stating that she is a victim, there are at least two stating otherwise.

Hermione has come to ignore the stories, just as she's currently ignoring the staring and the glaring and the whispers behind her back. Since falling into a relationship with a certain Slytherin many years ago, she's become accustomed to ignoring such things – and, apparently, ignoring much more.

X

_November 17, 2001_

She's been spying on them for two hours now – and is it weird that she's both relieved and disappointed that nothing has happened? Nothing; no hand-holding, no kissing, not even an inappropriate foot graze. In fact everything seems rather... professional. Just as he said it would be, a voice in the back of her head tells her. [

I'll be late tonight. I'm having dinner with Melanie to discuss the new project. I'll be home around 10_.]  
_

_It's not that she didn't believe him, per-say. It's that...well curiosity just got the best of her.  
_

_The rag-mags –_Twitch Weekly, Witch Weekly, Amortentia_ - have been reporting, for weeks now, that one Draco Malfoy may (or may not) be having an affair. She'd asked him about it jokingly and he'd joked along with her but that's as far as that conversation has ever gone. _["So, who's the lucky girl?" "What lucky girl?" "You know, the one you're cheating on me with." "Oh, you don't know her."]_ She'd waved it off before because, quite honestly, she can't see him ever having an affair – he's far too selfishly involved in her. She couldn't, however, continue to squash the little seed of doubt implanted into her brain by those magazines.  
_

_He is, after all, a perfect gentleman. And "totally" fit. And, if he were single, he'd be the most sought-after bachelor in history – with his fame and his riches and his name.  
_

_Needless to say, she hadn't been in her right mind when she decided to follow him to this restaurant. Nor was she in her right mind when she decided to stay, sitting at a table in the corner of the room so that his back was to her.  
_

_After paying her bill – for a glass of water and a small salad – she gathers her things, prepared to slip out unnoticed. At least, that's the plan. She pulls her cloak on and grabs her purse out of her booth before walking the long way towards the front door in order to avoid her husband's table. She walks past the other guests and around the large fountain in the center of the restaurant.  
_

_Her hand is on the doorknob when she hears her name being shouted across the restaurant. "Granger!" His voice is clear, firm and smug.  
_

_She groans, squeezing her eyes shut as she berates herself inwardly. She opens them again as she turns around to face him, smiling innocently.  
_

_He waves her over, cocking his head to the side cockily.  
_

_Taking a deep breath to settle her sudden nerves, she makes her way towards them. Melanie, the young witch accompanying him, turns to look at her, smiling sweetly. She has pale red hair, brown eyes, a fair complexion – a killer body, from the angle she had seen her from just five minutes earlier. "Hey honey," she greets him casually. "Fancy seeing you here."  
_

_"Yeah, fancy that," he smirks, "considering I told you this was where I'd be."  
_

_"Oh, did you? I must've forgotten," she covers quickly.  
_

_"You, my dear, haven't forgotten anything a day in your life."  
_

_"Well, you know what they say: there's a first time for everything," she points out innocently.  
_

_He hums, raising a perfect, disbelieving eyebrow in her direction. "I'm sure."  
_

_They stare at one another for a moment, almost challengingly, before she breaks the silence. "Well, you two look busy so I'm just gonna go." And then she turns away from them quickly -  
_

_"Granger," he calls after her, halting her mid-step. "We were actually just finishing. Why don't you join us? Let me introduce you."  
_

_Hermione clears her throat, turning back to face them both as he pulls himself to his feet. "Sure," she replies awkwardly.  
_

_He grins, curling his arm around her waist and pulling her to his side. "Melanie, I'd like you to meet my incredibly beautiful – and nosy – wife, Hermione," he announces, in which case said wife glares sideways at him before offering the woman sitting in the booth a polite smile. "Mrs. Malfoy, this is Melanie Cooper. She's Malfoy Inc.'s newest – and best – intern yet."  
_

_"It's so nice to finally meet you," Melanie says warmly, smiling as she offers Hermione her hand. "He talks about you all the time."  
_

_"He does, does he?" Hermione asks skeptically. "All good, I hope."  
_

_"Nothing but."  
_

_"Well he's mentioned you as well, so it's a pleasure," the brunette replies, smiling softly.  
_

_"Mel, seeing as we're wrapping it up, would you mind if I spoke with my wife alone for a minute?" Draco asks politely.  
_

_"No, not at all."  
_

_He smiles, taking Hermione's hand in his as he leads her towards the back hallway where the washrooms are. She follows him guiltily, wondering just how much he knows and just how angry he's going to be. The moment they're out of earshot, he turns to her, staring stone-faced at her. She can feel her cheeks heating up with embarrassment, shifting from foot to foot nervously. She looks down at the floor, suddenly finding it far more interesting.  
_

_"You're really something else, you know that?"  
_

_She sighs softly, raising her gaze. "Draco-" and she stops when she sees him grinning. "W-what?"  
_

_"You know better than to buy into the hype, Granger."  
_

_"I know-"  
_

_"And you know I would never lie to you."  
_

_"I was curious!" she yelps defensively before clapping her hands over her mouth.  
_

_He chuckles softly. "You're nosy. And stubborn. And you never believe anything without seeing it for yourself – which is both a strength and a flaw. And I can't decide if you don't listen well enough, or if you listen _too_ well," he tells her, looking amused and mischievous.  
_

_She blinks, confused. "What does that mean?"  
_

_"It means I knew the minute I told you about this dinner that you would stalk me," he replies smugly folding his arms over his chest.  
_

_"H-how?"  
_

_"Because I know you. I know that even though we were joking about the stories in the papers, you were still wondering."  
_

_She looks down sheepishly.  
_

_"I'm not mad, Granger. I just want to know why."  
_

_"Because...because look at you," she says softly, looking up at him. "You're this great person, this amazing man and this incredible...businessman who could have _any_ witch in the world he wanted. It certainly wouldn't be _hard_ for you to have an affair, seeing as most women fall to your feet all the time anyway. And I didn't necessarily think you were having one, I just wanted to prove to myself that you weren't – that I was right and they were wrong."  
_

_He smiles tenderly, cupping her face with both hands as he backs her gently against the wall. "I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, Granger," he whispers.  
_

_She blinks, nodding her head once as she swallows.  
_

_"The only _woman _in the _entire_ world I want, is right here."  
_

_She gasps, looking once to her left and once to her right. "Where?" she wonders jokingly.  
_

_He laughs, tossing his head back before shaking it as he pulls it back to look at her. His laughter dies in his throat and his eyes glaze over as he becomes serious. "I have everything I want, Granger. Everything I need. Right here, in my hands."  
_

_She smiles, lifting both hands to wrap around his forearms as he pulls her face towards his, closing the gap. "Tell me again you'll never let me go."  
_

_"I'll never let you go."_


	2. Chapter 2

A loud, drum-like sound pulls her from her thoughts as a door in the furthest corner of the room begins to open.

Everybody stands.

She does too, using Harry's arm as support, and for the first time since entering the courtroom she looks up. Her gaze lands on the judge, an old man whom she forgets the name of, entering the room. She watches him with baited breath as he walks up to his podium and takes a seat.

The sound of the gavel hitting the desk signals for everybody to sit down. She nearly falls backwards, her legs weak and unstable for her own body weight.

And as the trial begins, she casts her gaze back down to her fidgeting hands in her lap. The judge reads the prisoner his rights, reads his charges aloud – hundreds of counts of murder and torture, asks him if he understands the charges – his low, throaty voice saying "Yes" is almost too much, asks him if he has anything to say at this point.

"No."

He doesn't defend himself. He doesn't make excuses. He doesn't try to plead his case. [A part of her wants him to – to at least try, to show some remorse, to do _something_. But then a part of her is glad he doesn't – perhaps it will be better for them, perhaps it shows strength, perhaps it shows more remorse than one might think. Perhaps she's grasping at straws.]

She tunes everything out. The prosecutor's opening. The evidence. The testimonies. The eye-witnesses. More evidence. More testimonies. Moremoremore.

And still, throughout the entire ordeal, his gaze never leaves her. And she, still, cannot bring herself to look at him.

There's a sickness in her stomach and pain in her chest. She is numb to the images on the screen, photo evidence of bodies and victims – it's like she's having an out-of-body experience, watching herself react to this, or not react – but she is not numb to the memories that play through her mind like a movie.

A beautiful couple. A disastrous lie. An ugly truth.

She doesn't know what's worse: the fact that her husband wasn't who he said he was, or the fact that she'd be perfectly happy to have never known the truth. She wonders what they're thinking – the witches and wizards in the courtroom, the families of the victims whose lives were taken by her husband. She wonders what they see when they look at her. She wonders if they're just as disappointed and disgusted with her as she is with herself. She wonders how she would react, how she would feel, what she would think if she were in their shoes, having just lost someone they loved.

But then, in a twisted sort of way, she realizes that she isn't all that different from those families. She's lost someone too.

The entire trial has been nothing more than white noise to her. That is, until, everything falls silent. Now she can't help but to pay attention.

"Do you have anything you'd like to say to the court, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes."

That's it. Her gaze snaps up, colliding with the only pair of light grey eyes in the room looking back at her – and she is lost to him.

He stands up, holding his hands in front of him in such a way that prevents her from seeing the cuffs around his wrists – although she knows they're there. He takes two steps towards the microphone sitting on the ledge of his prisoner's box. She wonders, briefly, if anyone else is having trouble breathing before deciding she doesn't care.

He's looking straight at her, as he has been for the last couple of hours. And for the first time today she sees the emotions. Regret. Remorse. Guilt. Pain. Love. Loyalty. Adoration. Self-loathing. Hatred. Tenderness. Troubled. Tormented. Torn. She watches him blink back tears of his own, while a single salty tear leaves its trace down her cheek. She watches his Adam's apple bob nervously, uncertainly. She watches his body shiver before stiffening. She watches the movement of his chest – a deep breath in, a deep breath out.

If only they knew. If only they could see him the way she does.

And then he speaks.

"I'm sorry."

It is a confession. It is an apology. It is a sign of remorse that is quickly brushed off by everybody in the courtroom except for her.

Her breath catches in her throat and her heart skips several beats and she feels like she's about to faint as she grabs onto Harry's arm for support. He catches her, supporting her weight before she can fall backwards.

Draco, meanwhile, tries to move forward as though to catch her. To steady her. To hold her. A magical force field pushes him back and for a single moment he looks helpless. "I-I'm sorry."

Her knees finally give out, despite Harry's efforts to hold her up, and she sits back down in her chair. Everyone, including the judge, is staring at her – like they know that that apology was _meant_ for her – but there is only one person she can see.

In the next few minutes she's aware of only three things:

One, the judge has ordered her husband back to his cell.

Two, the judge has sent the jury upstairs to deliberate – had there always been a jury, or had she just not noticed?

Three, she needs to find a washroom.

X

_January 2004_

Hermione sits on the toilet lid, chewing nervously on her lip and fiddling with her fingers in her lap.  
Draco sits on the ledge of the bathtub, his right leg bopping up and down anxiously with his silver gaze trained on the red meal timer.  


_She follows his gaze – 45 seconds left. This has, without a doubt, been the longest three minutes of her life. His too, by the looks of it. She pulls her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees.  
_

_He looks at her.  
_

_She looks back.  
_

_He smiles encouragingly, reaching across the gap between them to hold her hand. She smiles back nervously as he squeezes her fingers in an attempt to soothe the tension in her entire body.  
_

_The timer goes off, startling them both. They look at one another, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Anxious. Afraid. He pushes himself to his feet and pulls her to hers. He cocks his head towards the white stick sitting on the edge of the porcelain sink, silently asking her if she wants to look at it. She shakes her head slightly, keeping her eyes trained on his face.  
_

_He kisses her forehead softly, his hand still clutching hers as he reaches his other one out to grab the stick. She watches the way his hands shake – would laugh if her entire body wasn't also shaking in anticipation. She watches him hesitate before curling his fingers around the handle.  
_

_The look on his face – as his brows come together, as his eyes cloud over, as his features sag – and she knows the answer. Tears gather in her own eyes, her heart drops into her stomach, her throat closes around a sob and she drops his hand. A strangled sob escapes her as she slips past him and out of the bathroom. She's only vaguely aware of him dropping the stick on the counter before following her down the hall and through their bedroom door.  
_

_This was their fifth test.  
_

_This is their fifth negative.  
_

_She crawls into their king sized bed, pulling the dark green duvet over her body as she sobs into her pillow. She feels the bed sink behind her, feels him lay down next to her, feels him curl his larger, stronger body around hers, securing his arms around her, burying his face into her hair.  
_

_"It's okay," he whispers, placing a soft, chaste kiss against the back of her neck. "It's okay."  
_

_She sniffs back tears, lifting her left hand up to her face to wipe her cheeks. "It's not okay," she chokes out.  
_

_"We're gonna be fine-"  
_

_"It's not gonna be fine," she protests, her voice shaking as she turns around in his arms. She feels sick to her stomach all over again. He looks at her questioningly. "We've been trying for months now-"  
_

_"So we keep trying. It's bound to happen at some point."  
_

_"And if it doesn't?"  
_

_"We got tested," he reminds her softly. "We're both fertile. It'll happen."  
_

_"But what if it doesn't?" she asks again.  
_

_"It will," he murmurs, kissing her softly in a vain attempt to distract her.  
_

_She closes her eyes, welcoming his touch and his lingering kisses as he trails his lips down her neck, across her collar bones, over her short between the valley of her breasts. He stops at her stomach, lifting her shirt up before resting his forehead against her bare, flat stomach. She brushes her fingers through his messy blond hair.  
_

_"It will happen," he whispers again. He kisses her stomach, murmuring something she can't quite make out before crawling back up her body. He places a kiss on the tip of her nose before falling onto his back next to her.  
_

_She rolls over, curling herself against his side as she rests her head on his chest. "Girl or boy?"  
_

_"Boy, naturally," he replies smoothly.  
_

_She giggles softly, rolling her eyes playfully. "Girl."  
_

_"Boy. It'll be a boy first."  
_

_"Girl."  
_

_"Malfoy boys are always born first, Granger."  
_

_"Malfoy's have never married a Granger before," she teases.  
_

_"Good thing, that is," he point out, grinning down at her. "Do you have any names in mind?"  
_

_"Sort of. Scorpius, for a boy. And Cassiopeia, for a girl."  
_

_"We don't have to follow the constellation tradition," he tells her softly.  
_

_She shifts slight, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him properly. "I thought you liked that tradition."  
_

_"I do. I just mean that we don't _have_ to if you don't want to. Besides, I know how much you like the name Rose," he says. Her grandmother's name was Rose.  
_

_"And I know how much you like Scorpius," she murmurs, smiling softly.  
_

_"Scorpius it is then," he smirks.  
_

_"Or Rose."  
_

_"Or both."  
_  
X

She takes a deep, calming breath as she stops in front of the door, closing her eyes and placing her hands over her stomach.

It's been nearly 25 minutes since the judge dismissed the courtroom for deliberation. It's been nearly 25 minutes since the battle begun in her head: visit him, or not to visit him.

Ultimately, visiting him won her over. He is, after all, her husband. [And so much more.]

She stands, facing the black, steel door for what feels like an eternity. The guards, upon Harry's request, have given her complete and total privacy with him. Although it wasn't much of a fight to begin with, considering the room they've put him in – the room she is about to enter, even if it kills her – repels all magic. Inside the room, her magic will be powerless. It's a frightening thought, not being able to produce magic, but the thought is in vain considering Draco won't be able to produce magic either.

She takes one last deep breath, opens her eyes and turns the doorknob. Her stomach is turning, her heart is beating so hard in her chest it hurts, her breathing is laboured and she feels so light-headed she feels as though she's about to faint. Only when she walks in, her legs shaking and her knees threatening to give way, does he look up at his companion.

He looks surprised. Shocked. Thoroughly confused and pleased all at the same time. He pushes himself to his feet, the legs of the uncomfortable metal chair scraping against the concrete floor. He's still dressed in his robes, albeit they're a bit crinkled from sitting down for hours.

For a moment they stand there, meters apart, staring at one another. For the first time since seeing him today, she takes in his appearance. He doesn't look like the prisoner he looked like yesterday; he isn't dirty or grimy or worn down. His hair is clean, not stringy. His face is clean shaven. His skin looks healthier, albeit still pale. He looks very much like his old, well-dressed, put-together self. He looks like the businessman he had become. He looks like the man she had fallen in love with; the man she married; the man she had chosen to spend the rest of her life with.

More importantly, though, he doesn't look like a criminal; like the monster hiding inside him.

And then, shocking him as well as herself, she runs across the room and throws herself into his arms.  
He catches her – just as he always does – and his arms wind around her back, holding her tightly against his chest. He buries his face into the crook of her neck as she buries herself into his shoulder, breathing in her jasmine perfume and lilac shampoo. Merlin, he's missed that. _This_.

She locks her arms around his neck tightly, suddenly afraid for the moment when she will have to let go. _This is wrong_, her mind screams. _He's a Death Eater. He's a killer. He's murdered people just like you_. Her mind is screaming of these things and, logically, it's right. But the man holding her is not a Death Eater. He's not a killer. He's not a prisoner on trial for murder. The man holding her is the man who has loved her for the last seven years. The man who had promised himself to her in marriage. The man who would hum her to sleep when she was upset. The man who would fight her battles for her, defend her, help her, even when she specifically told him not to. The man tried so hard to give her everything she's always wanted – her own home, a beautiful marriage, a family... The man who would give her the world if she wanted him to.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs into her neck. "I'm sorry."

"Just...hold me," she pleads, her voice thick with tears. "Just hold me like you used to."

He nods, picking her up bridal style with ease, his right arm around her back and his left under her knees. He carries her to the corner of the small room and leans against the wall before sliding down it and holding her in his lap.

Her mind must've given up on its protesting because everything is quiet inside her head as she snuggles against his chest, crying silent tears into the fabric of his robes. She listens to the erratic beating of his heart and his steady breathing, feels the heat radiating from his body. And just as it's always done, her heartbeat and her breathing falls into rhythm with his.

He rests his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as he desperately tries to savour this moment, with his wife in arms. He knows her body better than anyone, including herself, and yet he traces his fingers down her arms, sides, over her thighs. He is afraid of forgetting.

X

_August 17, 1998_

He watches her from the doorway to the adjoining bathroom in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place. She's lying on her back on the mattress, her slick, sweaty skin covered only by thin black sheets. Her hair is a mess, spread across her pillow like a halo and sticking to the sweat on her face. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly as she pants.  


_She's beautiful. Flawless. Heavenly.  
_

_He saunters back towards the bed, slipping his equally naked, slick body underneath the sheets next to her. Propping himself on his elbow as he lies on his side, he trails his fingers across the length of her arm from her shoulder to the tips her fingers. She hums in satisfactory appreciation, a lazy, pleasant smile tugging her bruised lips. He smirks, continuing his exploration of her body, first with his fingers and then with his lips. Across her shoulders, collar bones, the marks he's left across her neck and chest. Over her breasts, down the valley, across her stomach. Down her thighs, over her calves…  
_

_Over every. Single. Inch. Of her body.  
_

_And when he finishes at her toes, he trails his way back up.  
_

_"What are you doing?" she asks finally, pushing her fingers through his hair.  
_

_He pauses at her hips, looking up at her through his eyelashes as a mischievous smile spread across his own bruised and battered lips. "Exploring," he replies huskily.  
_

_"You didn't do enough of that before?" she giggles.  
_

_"Can never do enough exploring," he points out smugly, before continuing his way up her body.  
When he reaches her face he pauses to observe her. She smiles shyly at him, a light blush spreading over her cheeks. It's amazing, he thinks, that she can still be embarrassed in front of him – but then, tonight was only their first night together.  
_

_"What?" she asks softly.  
_

_"You're beautiful."  
_

_She blushes even more.  
_

_"I'm memorizing you," he tells her honestly. "I'm burning every curve, every crevice – everything to memory."  
_

_"Why?" she giggles.  
_

_"So I'll always remember what you feel like, what you look like."  
_

_She furrows her eyebrows in confusion, sighing softly when he rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. She shifts slightly, rolling onto her stomach as she cuddles into his side. Folding her arms across his chest, she rests her chin on her wrists, looking at him tenderly. "I'm not going anywhere, Draco."  
_

_He looks down at her softly, lifting his left hand to cup her cheek gently. "Promise?"  
_

_She smiles, climbing on top of him with her thighs on either side of his waist and hands resting on his chest. "Promise," she whispers.  
_

_He grins, sliding his hands up her thighs and around her hips. "So I can keep you, then?"  
_

_She giggles softly, biting her lip as she nods her head. "You can also memorize me all you want," she murmurs seductively.  
_

_"I was going to anyway," he growls, smirking as he flips her over onto her back and grinds his hips into hers.  
_  
X

Moments pass. Moments that feel like hours, yet don't feel log enough. Moments she isn't sure she wants to remember. Moments she knows she doesn't want to forget.

Moments spent in complete silence – the only sounds filling the room is their breathing and their hearts beating. More specifically though, the sound of _his_ heart beating against his chest. Steady. Strong. She thinks about never hearing it again, never feeling it again. She thinks about the little heart inside her that beats like his.

And suddenly, it's too much. She shifts in his arms, moving them from around her as she pushes herself to her feet. He doesn't protest, but she knows he wants to in the way his body had begun to feel tense and cold. She looks at him, sitting on the ground in the corner of the small, anti-magical room with his back against the wall. His shoulders are slumped, his arms are at his sides and his head is tilted backwards. He looks defeated.

She feels sick to her stomach all over again and wraps her arms protectively around her middle as she turns away from him. Goosebumps spread across her skin, but it isn't from the cold or the dreariness of the room. It's from something much, much deeper.

"Hermione..." he trails off, his voice thick and hoarse. His sigh echoes around the room.

"I'm pregnant."

She doesn't recognize her own voice. She doesn't even realize she's spoken until he's spinning her around, disbelief, curiousity, concern, fear, hope written all over his face. Her eyes glaze over as she looks back at him, her entire body aching. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"P-pregnant?"

She nods sadly, looking down at the floor between the gap separating them.

He glides his hands across her shoulders, wrapping his fingers around the base of her neck as he uses his thumbs to push her chin up gently. He can't help but smile, pressing his forehead against hers. "When did you find out?"

"The day before Harry and Ron..." she chokes on a sob, unable to actually say the word out loud. _Arrested_. "I was planning to tell you the next day."

"How far along are you?"

"Two months," she breaths shakily.

"Are...are you gonna..." he trails off, his voice wavering and unsteady.

"I dunno," she whispers truthfully. In fact, the truth is, she hasn't really thought about it.

He blinks, nodding once before tentatively closing the gap between them – like a boy kissing a girl for the first time. The moment his lips graze hers, ever-so-slightly, she gasps. He swallows it, deepening the kiss with every ounce of passion, love, desperation and hunger he possesses. She kisses him back, just the same, as her arms wind around his neck pulling him closer. He walks her backwards, pushing her gently against the wall. She moans into his mouth as he pulls away, gasping for air despite the fact that he would rather die from lack of air than to stop. "Please keep it," he pants, lowering his head into the crook of her shoulder as he presses his body flush against hers.

She blinks back tears, stoking his hair affectionately. "I...I dunno how-I can't do this alone-"

"You won't be alone," he murmurs, pulling his head back to look at her. He rests his hands on the wall behind her on either side of her head. "You won't be – you'll have your parents, and Potter and Ginny and...Weasley. And depending on what happens to me-" he trails off, swallowing roughly as she tears her gaze away him, turning her head to the side slightly. "Hey," he whispers, tilting his head to follow her face as he grazes his nose tenderly against hers. "Depending on what happens to me out there, you'll have _me_. You'll always have me."

It's a twisted thought, isn't it? That the father of her child – a murderer – is promising to help her.

She shakes her head, ignoring a tear as it trickles down her cheek. "I can't rely on you while you'll in here."

He sighs, nodding softly as he hangs his head, resting his forehead on her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

She lets out a sob, lifting her hands to stroke his hair.

"Tell him – or her – that...I'm sorry," he whispers. "Tell him I'm sorry I can't be there. Tell him I wish...I wish things were different. Tell him I love him – or her – just as I've loved you."

She nods slightly, tilting her head into the crook of his neck. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries so hard not to cry - even as she feels his own hot tears seeping through the fabric of her shirt.

"Tell him that no matter what anybody says, true or not...that I wish it had been different."

"Do you?" she asks softly, curiously.

He pulls back to look at her, stroking the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "Of course," he whispers. "If it means I could be out there, with you – and with..."he trails off, rubbing his hands gently over her stomach.

The door behind him opens suddenly, revealing a guard that's come to get her. He stands in the doorway as she wraps her arms tight around his neck, burying her face against his throat. Because right now, right here, in his arms...she doesn't care. She doesn't care what the guard is thinking, watching her. She doesn't care what her friends are probably thinking, or what those families think. _This_ is her husband.

_This_ is the man she knows; the man she loves.

However twisted.


	3. Author's Note

Heyy guys!

So I was going to wait a few more days before posting the third and final installment, but I couldn't wait. It's called _Twisted Ever After_. It's a lot shorter than both previous stories, but I still think it's pretty great and I really hope you guys agree! It's probably a different ending to what some of you were thinking, but I wanted to do something that would be short, sweet and satisfying. Needless to say, I hope you guys are thoroughly satisfied with the ending.

Enjoy


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